


If I come in can I get out again?

by a_writing_desk



Category: A Wrinkle in Time (2018), A Wrinkle in Time - Madeleine L'Engle, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Character(s) of Color, Family Dynamics, Friendship, Gen, Harry Potter Epilogue Compliant, Harry Potter Next Generation, Mystery, POV Alternating, Ravenclaw Rose Weasley, Slytherin Albus Severus Potter, Unspeakable Hermione Granger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:21:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25594960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_writing_desk/pseuds/a_writing_desk
Summary: In the summer before her third year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Rose Granger-Weasley finds herself trying to solve the mystery of her missing mother with the help of her brother Hugo, her cousin Albus, and his friend Scorpius Malfoy.It is a curious and risky journey they embark on — one that begins with the most baffling question: What is the Tesseract?
Relationships: Rose Granger-Weasley & Hermione Granger-Weasley, background Hermione Granger-Weasley/Ron Weasley
Comments: 8
Kudos: 10





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Blackpool](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14760663) by [TheDivineComedian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDivineComedian/pseuds/TheDivineComedian). 



> Title taken from pg. 145 of A Wrinkle in Time (1962).

It was a dark and stormy night. 

“The worst kind of night,” Rose Granger-Weasley said to herself, through her chattering teeth. 

_“It’s raining, it’s pouring,”_ she could hear Dad crowing in her mind. But he was the old man tonight; she could hear his snores from the attic.

Honestly, how could he be asleep? How could anyone be asleep? There was thunder, lightning, howling wind; a triumvirate of impending doom.

And not even Hugo, ordinarily attuned to her discomfort on insomnia plagued nights like these, had climbed the stairs to comfort her. 

Rose shivered underneath her covers, feeling the absence of his small furnace body keenly. She tried to ignore the cold as she held the light of her wand closer to the newspaper. 

_“Still no sighting of the harried witch, Hermione Granger-Weasley. Trouble in the home? Or is something more sinister afoot?”_

Rose wished as she had every night for the past six weeks, that her mother was here rather than just words on the page. 

If she was here, Rose knew she’d be midway through her tea-making. Mum had a very ordered routine for tea; She used one specific brand, checked the water temperature three times to make sure it was just right and had a timer to brew down to the perfect millisecond. 

All of this was only done the muggle way. 

Meaning the process was so intensive that Mum only bothered on it on cold, rainy nights like this. 

The last time Mum had made tea was Rose’s first holiday since her sorting. 

Rose had swallowed a mouthful of scalding tea for courage, then asked the burning question in her mind. “Mum, Do you think the sorting hat can make a mistake?”

“Is this about Albus, Rose? I warned your father against filling your head with silly school rivalries. Albus is still your cousin and —”

“This isn’t about Albus,” Rose had said. Even though it was a little bit. “It’s just, I know you both expected me to get Gryffindor —” 

“We didn’t expect anything!” 

“And now you’re a little disappointed —” 

“We’re not disappointed! We’re proud. Ravenclaw is a great house. I was almost sorted there —” 

Almost. Because Mum was clever, ‘Brightest witch of her age’ Rose heard from conversation to print. But she was more; a war hero, Order of Merlin recipient, one-third of the golden trio.

Mum had untangled Rose’s fingers wound over her cup and brushed a soothing thumb over her palm. “Rose, the hat wouldn’t have put you there if you didn’t belong.” 

But that was just it. Rose didn’t feel like she belonged. 

School was like flying; like no matter how tight she held, she was seconds from plummeting to the ground.

“That’s not it, though.” Rose had stared down into her cup. “I think I should enrol in muggle school. Stay here with Hugo.”

“You shouldn’t miss out on your education because your brother won’t be able to join until another couple of years.”

“I can have a tutor for magic!”

Mum had lifted Rose’s chin and stared directly into her eyes. “Rose, what is this really about?”

“Hugo is nine, Mum. And there’s been no sign of accidental magic. How do we know he’s not a...not a...the kids at school have already started rumours!” 

And Rose had jinxed or hexed anyone thick enough to talk shite about her brother in her presence, resulting in three letters written home and more than enough house points lost from Ravenclaw. 

And while that had stopped the whispers reaching Rose’s ears, it had not put an end to the gossip altogether.

Not even her fellow Ravenclaws were immune to it. 

Letter two had come from her overhearing a fifth-year Prefect in the library accusing her ‘Mudblood’ mother for Hugo’s ‘defect.’

“Have you been reading the Prophet, again? Skeeter — _that vile hag_ — she’s filling your head with lies and —” Mum had stopped and gathered her daughter in her arms. “Rose petal, your brother is fine,” she had told her, stroking Rose’s hair softly. “We love both of you, Gryffindor or not.”

But what Rose remembered most was what Mum had not acknowledged: that there might be no sorting at all. 

The memory of that night left Rose’s mouth dry, her tongue trying to remember the warmth of her mother’s tea.

— But she was thirteen, she could make her own tea — Rose thought, climbing out of bed.

Rose wove through the tower of books she had left on her floor — sorted by genre and level of sentience, a scattering of ingredient bags from her potions kit, and Elephant who tried to wrap his trunk around her, but let her go with a trumpet after she gave the plush a kiss. 

She walked carefully down the stairs to avoid the trick stair Uncle George had left behind on one of his visits — and the last time Mum had ever invited him back. 

At the end of the corridor, Rose could see Hugo’s door was shut tight, and Rose felt a flobberworm betrayal wriggle in her mind. She was the only one awake, the only one seemingly consumed by the wrongness of the past few weeks. 

Hudson Hooperson, catching notice of Rose, stopped waving at the crowd. The Keeper pointed the left of his poster, towards the kitchen. 

There he was in his red and blue pyjamas, munching on biscuits with a glass of milk. Like always, Hugo was one step ahead of her.

Rose rubbed her eyes tiredly. “How can you eat at a time like this?” 

Hugo wiped his mouth of the crumbs, leaving only his gapped tooth smile behind. “Is there ever a time not to eat?”

“Mum’s missing! And Dad won’t tell us anything!” 

“He said Mum’s researching. She’ll be back soon,” he reassured.

“And you believe him?” 

Hugo swallowed another gulp of milk and shrugged. “Is there a reason not to?” 

There was one glaring obvious to Rose: the missing clock. Dad had removed the adornment gifted to him from Gran from the living room weeks ago, but not before Rose noticed Mum’s hand pointed to Lost.

Rose sighed, no longer in the mood to challenge Hugo’s easy acceptance. “Did you at least make some tea?” 

On cue, the kettle whistled. Hugo grabbed it from the hob, pouring tea into her mug he had ready on the counter. It was Mum’s favourite, and remarkably resembled their house pet, Crookshanks.

As if summoned, Rose heard a purring, the feline rubbing his head on her leg. Hugo scooped him up with one hand, handing Rose her cuppa.

She took a sip, feeling a bit comforted. Hugo’s tea was almost as excellent as Mum’s; warm and the right kind of sweet.

Hugo sat back across from her, setting Crookshanks in his lap. He shoved another biscuit in his mouth.

“Don’t eat all the biscuits, Hugo,” Rose warned, “Those are Dad’s favourite.”

Not that he had noticed when Rose had added it to the trolley when the three of them did the shopping together last weekend. 

Dad had been like that lately, not noticing things. The kind of stuff he usually did: what was left in the fridge, which players the Chudley Cannons were trading, the purposefully lousy moves Rose did when they played chess. 

He remembered to check the owl post, however, the one thing in any other time he would not bother with. 

“Don’t worry,” Hugo held up a package of chocolate biscuits, “I’ve saved some for him.” 

“Thanks, Knight,” came a tired voice from the doorway.

Dad entered the kitchen, giving her a kiss on the forehead. He took the package from Hugo, thumb rubbing the scruff underneath his short afro.

“Might need to go to Lee’s.” Dad removed his hand and got too close, Crookshanks swatting at the pale skin of his arm. Dad swore, moving back. “Old cat still doesn’t like me.” 

Hugo stroked the cat’s fur. “He’s just missing Mum.”

Aren’t we all, Rose thought, but did not say. 

Dad’s face summed it perfectly, anyway. He opened his mouth to speak, but Crookshanks cut him off with a yowl. Rose tensed before the scuffle of the floo sounded from the fireplace. The three Granger-Weasleys eyeballed the closed door that separated them from the living room. 

“Stay here,” Dad instructed. His wand was clenched tight in his hand, face tense. 

Rose and Hugo shared a glance. They hurriedly followed Dad, Rose with her wand clutched in her hand, and Hugo with Crookshanks’ head tucked under his chin.

There was a person-sized shape in the fireplace, face obscured by the large hood of their bright yellow macintosh with three sizes too big wellies to match. 

“Remove your hood,” Dad ordered. 

An oval-shaped face with drenched dirty-blonde tendrils appeared. 

“Hello, wonderful night, isn’t it?” Luna gave them a small wave. 

Hugo and Crookshanks let out a noise of surprise.

Rose stared incredulously.

And Dad started laughing, helping Luna out of the fireplace and into a hug. 

“Luna, what are you doing here?” Rose asked bemused, brushing off the droplets left behind on her Chudley Cannons from the damp hug she had received. 

“I’m here to help you find your mother after her disappearance, of course.” 

“Luna,” Dad said, good humour vanished.

“I came straight here from Australia, once I heard,” Luna went on. “I should have suspected after she sent me that letter about the tesseract.”

“What’re you — Where did you — Dad spluttered, going so pale that his freckles became stark on his face.

“What’s a tesseract?” Rose interrupted.

Luna blinked, the salamander eyes of her earrings mimicking her a split second later. “Well, I don’t know.”

Rose rubbed the skin of her forehead not covered by her scarf, annoyed. “You don’t know?”

“Haven’t the faintest idea,” Luna said airily, pulling a pair of glasses out of the pocket. “That’s why I brought these.” She waved the glasses around, her eyes as wide as owls. “Spectesperes are great for discernment.”

“Well, thank you, Luna, for that pitch,” Dad said, scarlet ears intact, “But it’s late —”

“And would you like some tea? Before you leave?” Hugo offered politely.

“I am sort of chilled. I’d love a cup, dear,” Luna replied, tucking her glasses on the top of her head and accepting Hugo’s hand. 

Dad didn’t look at all pleased with Hugo’s invitation, but let him lead Luna into the kitchen without a fuss. 

“Do you think this has to do with Mum’s disappearance?” Rose asked Dad now that they were alone.

“Your Mum didn’t disappear, Rosie. She just went on a trip for research.” 

Rose stamped her foot. “I know you’re lying. Mum’s gone. The clock says so.” 

Dad placed his hands on her shoulders, ducking to stare her directly in the eyes. “The clock’s just confused, Rose. Magic can be a bit wonky. Like your ol’ Dad’s nose.”

Rose laughed, pitifully, willing herself not to cry. 

Dad wrapped his arms around her, holding her into a tight embrace. “Mum will be back. Whatever nonsense Luna’s talking about, is just her usual sort. Don’t worry.”

But how could Rose not? Dad was still lying. To protect her, yes. But Rose knew something wasn’t right. And now she had a clue to figure out what.


	2. Chapter I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dad was still lying. To protect her, yes. But Rose knew something wasn’t right. And now she had a clue to figure out what.

The next day Rose woke up to sunlight burning her eyes and the sound of Hugo calling her. 

“Rose,” he repeated. “Wake up. Dad says we’re going to the Burrow today.” 

Rose rubbed the drool from the corner of her mouth. “What? Why?” 

Hugo sat at the end of her bed, dressed in his Spiderman hoodie and jeans. “I don’t know. But Dad didn’t even eat breakfast.”

“But he cooked, right?”

Dad always made breakfast, except when he was particularly lazy and managed to convince Mum doughnuts was a good idea. 

“Yeah.” Hugo didn’t stop frowning. “But it’s nearly time for elevensies. Dad’s never gone this long without eating. Not even when sick.”

“He’s nervous then.”

And it was catching because Rose was wide awake now. 

“Give me seven minutes,” Rose told Hugo, then left for the bath. 

Rose flattened her curls down, brushed and flossed, twice, like Nan said, even though she was in a rush, got dressed, in precisely six minutes forty-seven seconds. 

She found Hugo sitting on the last step of the staircase, Crookshanks curled in his arms. 

Dad was closemouthed, travelling robes already on, leaning up against the fireplace. 

Rose acknowledged this as another red flag — Dad was never quiet, not even when he was sleeping. 

“Hugo said you didn’t eat. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” Dad put his hands up defensively. “I snacked a bit while I was cooking. Appeased my appetite.”

“Alright,” Rose said with narrowed eyes. “Why are you sending us to the Burrow?” 

“I have to head in to help George with the shop.” 

“Why can’t we go with you?” 

They had gone in with Dad plenty of times before to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. 

“Your grandparents haven’t seen you two in a bit,” Dad said. “They’re missing you.” 

Dad was purposefully refusing to answer her questions. And it made Rose want to shout, but more pressingly it made her scared. 

“Come here,” Dad motioned with both his arms. “The both of you.” 

“It’s only for today,” he assured them, hugging each child with one arm. He didn’t let go for several moments longer than usual, enough for Rose to go from upset to comforted back to upset again. 

Hugo stayed close to her side, even after the hug ended. 

Rose was tight-lipped as Dad sprinkled flood powder into her palm, then Hugo’s. 

There was no way of getting out of this. 

“Go on, you two,” Dad said finally, a weak smile pasted on his face. 

Gran was upon them as soon as the floo powder settled, gathering them up in a cinnamon-scented hug. Granddad Arthur wasn’t far behind her, having hugs for them as well, along with a spot of grease on his nose. 

“How’s the carburettor?” she asked him close to his ear. 

Hugo mimed wiping his nose, and Granddad Arthur gave them both a thumbs up. 

“I’m just fine, my dear. Absolutely in top shape.” 

They played two rounds of Exploding Snap before Granddad Arthur trailed off in the middle of a sentence about pencil sharpener and a Niffler. They were into a third game — on the top of his bald spot — when Gran heard Rose’s stomach grumble. 

With motherly efficiency, she herded them into the kitchen. 

It was then that she finally asked the question Rose had been dreading this visit would bring. 

“Have you heard from your mother, dearies?” Gran tried to ask offhandedly, but Rose could easily detect a hint of her curiosity. 

“No,” Rose answered curtly, glaring down at her uneaten pudding. 

“Well, no need to worry, dear,” Gran said, reaching over to pat her granddaughter’s hand. “Your Mum’s probably just gotten herself too busy to send an owl again.”

Rose surreptitiously wiped the streak of flour left behind on her jeans. “I’m not worried,” she lied. Terribly, too, by the way Hugo nudged her ankle underneath the table. 

She shoved her bowl towards him, assuming the sooner they were stuffed to Gran’s liking, the faster they could leave. 

It was ridiculous. Mum didn’t forget things. At least, not the important stuff. Like when Crookshanks needed to visit the Magizoologist. Or what song Hugo was learning on the piano. Or that Rose liked to read Dahl herself but enjoyed having Jones read to her. Or that Dad always fancied two servings of dessert. Or writing letters to her family.

“Say, Gran,” Hugo said, licking his spoon, “I think I saw something eating the bushes outside again.” 

“Well,” Gran tutted, “We haven’t gotten around to degnoming the garden in a spell.” 

“We’ll take care of it,” Rose volunteered, nudging her brother’s foot back, catching on to his excuse. 

“What do you think?” Rose questioned the second they had escaped the smothering air of the kitchen.“Does what Luna said have anything to do with Mum?” 

Hugo barely glanced up from where he was laying on the grass, watching Crookshanks try to pin a gnome. “Well, tesseract’s a funny word. Sounds like the kind of thing you and Mum would like.” 

Rose huffed. It was a funny word. But not in the way Hugo was thinking. It was so peculiar that she couldn’t find a mention of it anywhere. Not in any wizarding or muggle dictionary.

“Tesseract?” 

Rose turned around to find a smiling Scorpius Malfoy standing behind them. Slouched beside him was their cousin, Albus. 

Hugo waved at them using Crookshank’s paw. 

“What are you two doing here?” Rose demanded. 

Albus kicked the green-haired gnome in Crookshanks’s direction. “Probably the same as you.” 

Rose didn’t think he meant child labour. 

“Does Gran know you’re here?” 

“She’ll figure it out,” Albus said plainly. 

_“Tes - ser - act,”_ Scorpius sounded out. “I read that word in a book once.” 

Rose bit back, “You read?” at the tip of her tongue. “What kind of book? Where was it? What did it say?”

“A regular kind of book, I guess,” Scorpius said, Crookshanks purring against his knuckles. The cat usually had better instincts. “It was in our library. I really only skimmed through it. I’m not sure I remember the name.”

“Well, that doesn’t do us much good does it?” 

“But I remember what it looks like! In fact,” Scorpius clapped his hands together, “Helia,” he called.

A house-elf popped into existence in front of them, causing Rose to yelp, and Crookshanks scurry behind Hugo. They were diminutive in height, barely past Hugo’s hip with wide violet eyes. 

“Yes, Master Scorpius?” squeaked the elf. 

“Can you bring me a book from the manor? It’s dark grey — faded silver writing on the spine. Maybe chocolate smudges on some of the pages.” 

“Yes, Master Scorpius.” The elf’s ears flopped once, twice, then they disappeared. 

Scorpius turned his enthusiastic grin back to Rose. “I had just gotten back from a visit from Honeydukes,” he explained, misinterpreting the disapproving look on her face.

“You own a house-elf. That’s despicable!” Rose accused. 

Scorpius gasped, palms coming to rest over his heart. “Helia is paid for her services. She even has her own room. It is remarkably well-decorated, she favours periwinkle scarves for some reason —”

The rest of his sentence went unfinished as Helia popped back in. “Is this what you be needing?” 

In her outstretched, wrinkled hands, was a book, exactly how Scorpius had described. 

“Yes, thank you, Helia,” said Scorpius, shaking her hand vigorously. 

Rose expressed gratitude of her own, feeling bad for the poor elf’s arm. She took the book from her and casted a spell to scan for “tesseract” on the pages.

“Here,” Rose said, catching everyone’s attention. “It says ‘Among the multitude of accomplishments of Cygnus the II, of the ancient and most noble House of Black, was finding evidence suggesting the existence of a tesseract’,” she read rapidly. 

The corner of Scorpius’s mouth downturned. “Cygnus the II died in 1943. I doubt there’s a Black alive who would remember any details.”

“Oh!” Rose exclaimed. 

The boys stared back at her; Albus, wearily; Scorpius, eager; Hugo, encouraging. 

“Well, it’s obvious, no person alive! We need to talk to a portrait or a ghost!” 

Albus let out a small groan, hands reaching to further dishevel his hair.

“Something you want to share, Albus?” Rose said, not managing to contain some of her irritation. 

“I think I know one,” Albus said reluctantly, shoulders hunched. 

Rose grabbed his arm in excitement. “Who? Where are they? How do we find them?” 

He shook her off. “I can’t tell you —” 

“Albus,” she began, impatient. 

“But I can show you,” he finished. 

They quickly figured out where Albus wanted to take them was inaccessible by floo. Rose vehemently dismissed travelling by broom. It was Hugo who suggested they walk into town and catch the Knight bus. Scorpius charmed Gran into letting them visit the muggle village for the afternoon, and they were off on the purple monstrosity. 

“You didn’t have to pay for us,” Rose said to Scorpius’s beaming face, the upper half of his body sprawled over the back of his seat to face them. “I had the sickles.” 

“It was no problem.” He didn’t stop smiling, not even when Albus had to yank him back from falling out into the aisle when the bus took another sharp turn. 

“Still,” Rose insisted, uncomfortable with owing anyone anything, uncomfortable with owing Scorpius Malfoy, son of a former Death Eater _anything_. “I could have —” 

“You can pay the fare for the way back,” Albus cut her off, glaring out the window. 

Rose’s foot itched to kick the back of his seat. But she didn’t, because Rose was an inch taller than Albus, and, thus, actually the bigger person.

“I don’t trust him,” Rose whispered to Hugo, sliding into him as the bus took a wild left.

Hugo righted her, unaffected by the jostling around him. “Who? Albus or Scorpius?”

Thrown, Rose faltered for a moment. “Scorpius, of course.” 

“Right,” Hugo said, glacier slowly. 

Rose didn’t like the look in his eyes. Like he knew what she was thinking, and it ought to be different. 

“We’re here,” Albus announced, finally turning from the window. 

Anxious to get to the location, Rose rushed off the awful bus, dragging Hugo and an uncharacteristically green Crookshanks with her.

“And where is here?” Rose questioned once she stepped on to the street outside a row of muggle houses. 

“Here,” Albus said, “is number twelve, Grimmauld Place.”

“There isn’t a number twelve,” Rose protested. But, then it was like a haze had lifted, another house coming into sharp focus between eleven and thirteen.

Rose, dazed, followed the boys as they walked up the steps of the house.

Immediately upon entering, they were encased in darkness. The only light available shone from Crookshanks yellow eyes. Rose took out her wand casting, _“Lumos,”_ her Slytherin companions following suit. 

Rose could make out the hallway they were in resembled something out of a haunted mansion. Spooky chandelier, peeling wallpaper, and rotting carpet, Rose ticked off. — Or it could just be regular Pureblood decor —she mused, taking in the serpentine accents.

Stepping forward to inspect closer, Rose misstepped, her foot landing on Crookshanks’s tail, causing him to let out a piercing yowl.

Rose removed her trainer, giving hushed apologizes to the cat, but the damage was done.

_“FECKLESS FILTH! DREADFUL DISGRACES! HALF-BLOOD HELLIONS!”_

Rose started to cast a silencing charm, anything to make it stop, but Albus grabbed her wrist.

“She’s who we need to speak to,” he said, “And I think you’re the only one she’ll answer, Scor.” 

“Well, she is my great-great Aunt. Who knows, maybe this will cheer her up a bit. I might even become her favourite nephew.”

Rose thought any favour he would earn had to do with the fact he was Pureblood. And white. 

Nevertheless, this pep-talk to himself was enough for him, and they began to shuffle like hippogriffs for slaughter towards the decrepit portrait, Scorpius in the front, the other three not far behind. 

“Miss Black? It’s your nephew, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy.”

“PROPER PUREBLOOD. TOUJOURS PUR. OURS WAS THE NOBLE AND MOST ANCIENT HOUSE! UNTIL MY POOR, PRISTINE REGULUS DIED! AND THAT AMORAL ABERRATION, THAT DISGRACEFUL DEVIANT, THAT WRETCHED WORM —”

— Yes, yes, alliteration — Rose thought perturbed. She willed Scorpius to interrupt.

“Yes,” Scorpius nodded fervently, cowlick coming to brush his eye, “family bonds can be complicated. Speaking of, Ms Black, do you recall anything, um, significant about your grandfather, Cygnus Black the II?”

“DRAWN TO THE NAMELESS, TAKEN BY DEATH’S DEMENTED HANDS SO SOON! ABANDONED IN THE ARCHWAY!” 

“But did he ever mention a tesseract?” Rose said, frustrated beyond belief. 

The portrait’s eyes rolled back, blearing whites only visible. _“FINIS! FINISHED! FAREWELLED!”_ she wailed, foam spilling down her chin.

Rose stepped back, instinctively covering her ears.

“Yes, well, goodbye to you, Aunt!” Scorpius yelled over her ear-piercing screams, Hugo and Albus furiously working to shut the curtains.

They sprinted from the house, tumbling out to the street.

“That went well,” Albus said, rubbing his ears.

Fed up, Rose threw herself down onto the steps. “What are we going to do? She didn’t know anything about a bloody tesseract!” 

Hugo sat down next to her, taking her hand in his gentle grip. “Mum will come back. Or we’ll find her.” 

“And we’ll help!” Scorpius tacked on immediately.

Rose couldn’t hold it anymore. “Why? Why will you help us?”

For the first time all day, his smile faded. “I know what it’s like to lose your Mother. And if I had any hope of saving her, I would take it.”

Regret filled her veins, and all her words dried up at once. 

“Rose is sorry, Scorpius. She just doesn’t know how to say it,” Hugo said subdued, placing his other small hand in Scorpius’s, linking them all together.

“Hugo!” Rose gasped, offended, even though she was glad he could vocalize what she couldn’t.

“It’s alright,” Scorpius responded, sounding sincere, the corners of his mouth rising, though the light had not come back to his eyes.

Albus cleared his throat. “We better head back. Don’t want Gran to suspect anything.”

He let go of Scorpius’s hand and raised his palm to hail the bus.

“You’re late,” Gran greeted them as soon as they entered the Burrow.

“It was my fault, Mrs Weasley,” Scorpius said, convincingly remorseful, “I got enthralled by all of that remarkable stationery.”

Gran harrumphed. “It’s alright, Scorpius, dear. But my grandchildren should have known better,” she scolded.

“Sorry, Gran,” they muttered at once.

“You could have missed supper,” she continued, turning her attention back to the multitude of cookware hanging in the air.

“Actually, we’re all eating at our house tonight,” Hugo said.

Albus made a face that Rose read as “We are?” but then quickly smoothed into agreement. “Yeah, Gran, we’ll just take the floo there.”

Gran fixated on Rose, all of the moving pots and pans freezing in place.

A trickle of sweat rolled down Rose’s arm, she really was pants at lying. “You know, Dad,” Rose tried to say lightly. “Looking for an excuse to try this new Chinese takeaway place.”

Gran huffed, smoothing down her apron. “Okay, dears. Give him my love.”

“Of course, Gran,” Hugo said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. 

“The photograph won’t move,” Rose said to Scorpius, his face much too close to a family photograph. 

“Your mother looks different in these.”

“That’s because she’s smiling,” Rose said.

Scorpius laughed awkwardly, nudging a silent Albus. 

Rose didn’t bother telling him it wasn’t a joke. Mum hadn’t been caught smiling — her real smile, all thirty-two pearls and gums — in a photograph for the public since 2003. 

Rose ran her tongue over her braces, thinking her own crooked teeth. Granddad William said she had six more months before they could come off. 

“You two probably need to owl home, right?” Hugo asked kindly. 

“I...yes,” Scorpius stuttered to answer.

“I guess Mum will have remembered I’m gone by now.” Albus tried to sound disinterested, but Rose could tell he was anything but. 

“I’ll go get Pesto from my room then.” 

Rose grabbed Hugo’s upper arm. “I’ll go with you. You to...” Rose looked at the two guests in her house. “...just stay here.”

“I’m surprised you left them alone.”

“Crookshanks will yowl if there’s trouble,” Rose said dismissively, although she was pressed to move the conversation along. “What’s your plan? What are we doing?” 

“I think,” Hugo said, petting Pesto’s tawny head, “I’d rather tell you all together.” 

“Hugo,” Rose paused, thinking of how to word her question, “You really think they can help?” 

“Haven’t they already?” Hugo said, picking up the birdcage. 

“What about Dad?”

“Dad was wearing his wand hostler. He won’t be home before midnight. That gives us six hours.”

“For what?” Rose asked, once again, as they reached the living room. 

“To break into Mum’s study.” 

Pesto gave a hoot of excitement. 

Rose put her face in her hands. “Bloody hell,” she spoke into her palms.

Spell, after spell she tried, time and her patience dwindling away. 

But the wards had refused to budge. 

“Maybe you should take a break,” Hugo advised from the floor, setting down his copy of _The Quibbler Comics_. “Sandwich?” he offered.

There was half of cheese and onion left, from when Hugo had gone into the kitchen to make dinner for everyone. Rose had been too focused to eat, but the boys had eaten enough for her twice over. 

Rose waved him off. “It’s no use. That was the last spell I knew.”

Hugo pushed the plate towards her. “No crusts.”

Giving in, Rose took a ravenous bite of the cheese and onion. Crookshanks kneaded her leg, and Rose broke off a piece for him. She cast her gaze to the right side of the room, where the two best friends were talking, heads close together.

Rose ground the last bit of bread with her teeth. “What are you two whispering about over there?”

Scorpius lifted his head, seeming apprehensive. He led Albus by the hand towards them. 

“I have an idea,” Scorpius said, at the same time Albus took out his wand and cast, _“Diffindo.”_

“Hey!” Rose yelled, pushing Albus away from Hugo, a gash having appeared on her brother’s arm.

Rose felt sick at the sight of red on Hugo’s ordinarily unmarked black skin. Hugo, however, seemed unaffected by the blood painting his forearm.

Hugo’s round eyes meet hers, excited. “Rose, can you feel it? The wards are down.”

Rose gaped at him. “What?”

But he was right. The thrum of Mum’s wards had vanished from her bones. Hugo took off into the room before Rose could heal him.

“Um, Rose Granger-Weasley,” Scorpius said, voice rushed, “you can put your wand down now. You know, if you like.” 

Flustered, Rose tucked her wand away.

Scorpius smiled sheepishly, making an invitation to the open door. “After you.”

Inside, the room looked as if a hurricane had struck it. There were papers strewn everywhere, books open on every surface, and inkwell had turned over, permanently staining Mum’s rug.

“Wow,” Scorpius’s grey eyes widened, “You two work quickly.”

“It was like this when we came in,” Albus said, righting the tipped inkwell.

“I’m assuming this room doesn’t normally look like this?” Scorpius guessed. 

“Not normally,” Rose said. “No.” 

But normal had flown out the window weeks ago.

“Someone was looking for something.” Rose chewed the inside of her cheek. “We’d need a litre of liquid luck to find anything in this mess.” 

“Say that three times fast,” Albus said lowly. 

Scorpius let out an unrestrained giggle, then grew more serious. “We could try to summon something, see if anything useful turns up.” 

“Anit-summoning spells,” Rose said absently, thinking. “And we don’t even know what we’re looking for. Not well enough to picture it.” 

“What about that spell from before — the one you cast on the book? Will that work?” 

“Well, I mean, it can search for certain words,” Rose examined the hailstorm of a room again, “but it’d never work for all these books and parchment at once. We’d still have to go through everything individually.”

“Then let’s get started,” Hugo spoke, rolling up his sleeves. He made a spot for himself in the sea of parchment and started to read. 

Rose demonstrated the spell to the Slytherins and picked up a set of parchment of her own. 

“What spellbook did you find this in anyway?” Scorpius asked her, with a smile full of intrigue. 

“I didn’t.” Rose squared her shoulders, looked him dead in the eye. “I made it.”

“You made it,” Scorpius said in awe. 

“No need to lay it on that thick,” Rose said sourly, embarrassment colouring her voice. 

“No, you’re — that’s brilliant. It really is.” 

Rose felt split; torn between escaping or basking in his sincerity. “It didn’t help open the wards.”

“My Dad has a lot of wards around his office at the manor,” Scorpius’s voice thrummed with excitement, “And those come down at the distress and injury of a young inhabitant desiring entry, so I thought it might work here, too.”

“That’s clever.” 

“Not nearly as creating your own spell.”

“I just read some Magical Theory books.”

“Yeah, but I bet it wasn’t the silly first year book they gave us. Lockhart is still quoted on that book!”

He was right. The books Mum had managed to snag for her were all at least fifth year level. 

“How did you figure that out, the danger?”

“Just clumsy. Learned not to try no slick socks on hardwood floors.” Scorpius laughed. “I tripped before I got them on.” His thumb rubbed over his arm. “Mother healed...” 

Rose doesn’t know what her face does to make him pause. 

“Don’t go pitying me again,” Scorpius said softly. 

“Again?” Rose echoed. 

“On the steps. I’m not...I don’t want you to...” 

“It wasn’t pity.” 

Rose doesn’t continue. It was fear. A fear that she’d only know Mum in the past tense like him.

They sat in silence for a few minutes until —.

“So,” Scorpius enquired, fingers tapping on his leg, “your mother’s an Unspeakable, right?” 

“Yes.” 

“Do you know if she was working in a specific area?”

Rose wanted to reach out and still him. “No.”

“So she was doing some very secretive research.”

Rose closed her tomb with a thud, wondering what he was getting at. “All Unspeakable research is secretive.” 

“But she didn’t even tell your father where she was going,”

“No.” 

Scorpius handed her a parchment filled with sketches. “What does this remind you of?”

Rose scanned the parchment quickly, then shot a puzzled glance at Scorpius. She studied the paper again, slower this time. “It looks like schematics for a time-tuner,” Rose said finally. “But they were all destroyed.”

Scorpius snapped his fingers. “But that’s it, what if they’re not! What if your Mom was researching time? What if she’s not stuck in where, but when?”

Rose’s mind raced, formulating a response to his theory when Albus made a noise, and her head whipped around to him.

“We need to go to the Department of Mysteries,” he said tonelessly.

“To the Time Chamber?” Rose clarified.

“No,” Albus answered, mouth in a tense line. “To the Death Chamber.”


	3. Chapter II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We need to go to the Department of Mysteries,” he said tonelessly.
> 
> “To the Time Chamber?” Rose clarified.
> 
> “No,” Albus answered, mouth in a tense line. “To the Death Chamber.”

The house was quiet, at least inside of it was. 

The Potter residence on most days could be described as a madhouse, but today was shaping up to be an unusual sort of one — a day that might actually be of benefit for Albus for once. 

Dad had taken off to the Ministry in the wee hours of the morning, and the rest of his prying family was currently fifty meters or higher in the air. 

He was alone.

Carefully, he tipped just enough floo powder into his hand. 

“Albus Severus Potter, what do you think you’re doing?” 

Except, maybe he wasn’t. 

Albus jumped, floo powder covering his trainers. He turned around, shoulders sagging in relief when he saw the face in front of him. 

“You’ve gotten better at your impression of Mum, Lily — ” 

She grinned smugly. 

“ — If she had Dragon Pox.” 

“Albus, Albus,” Lily wagged a finger at him, “You’re not supposed to use the floo without asking first.” 

“And you’re not supposed to have Witch Weekly magazines under your bed,” Albus countered. 

Lily was uncowed, skipping over to him. “Are you going to see Scorpius?” 

“No, I’m going to Timbuktu,” Albus answered sarcastically. 

“I hear it’s cold this time of year.” 

And that was Mum’s actual voice. She sauntered in from the kitchen backdoor, filthy kit and all. 

Albus cursed in parseltongue, making Lily giggle. 

“Language,” Mum admonished. 

“Sorry,” Albus rolled his eyes, “shit.” 

“Al — ” Mum stopped, sighing. “Lily, I need to talk to your brother alone.” 

“But, Mum, I want to see Scorpius too!” Lily whined. 

“And I wanted nice, obedient children,” Mum replied, tucking the fly-ways behind her ears. 

“You’re just mad because I caught the snitch. It’s not my fault Jamie won the coin toss,” Lily said under her breath, but not low enough for Mum’s ears.

“Lily, upstairs!” 

“Mum,” Lily pressed on, widening her brown eyes behind her glasses. 

“Upstairs!” Mum ordered, tone absent of her usual humour. “And think of a better hiding spot for those magazines than under your bed while you’re up there!”

Albus didn’t flinch when the sound of his sister’s stomps increased.

Mum crossed her arms, eyebrows raised. “Really, Al?” 

“Really, Mum?” Albus mimicked. “James got you with that trick coin again? How many weeks before he has to clean his room this time?” 

“Your Dad and I talked to you about this.”

Translation: Mum talked, and Dad looked like he couldn’t wait to escape the room.

“James and Lily get to see their mates!” 

Carol-Alice had just left this morning, only for Fred and Molly to floo in twenty minutes later, just in time for the monthly Quidditch match (which Albus never participated in) that James used to get out of chores. 

“Not our fault your only mate is Scorpius,” Lily yelled, hanging over the railing. 

Albus flicked his wand with purpose, sending Lily’s hair cascading like a curtain over her face.

“Al,” Mum sighed, in that same tone. “Lily, please, plot revenge in your room,” Mum pleaded, fixing Lily’s hair with a gust of wind. 

Lily sputtered, pulling ginger strands from her lips. She hissed at Albus, some choice words he didn’t even know could translate to Parseltongue, then slammed her door shut. 

Mum fixed her tired gaze on him. “I told you I don’t want you at Malfoy Manor alone.”

“I won’t be any more alone than Scorpius.” 

Mum’s eyes softened, her hands reaching for him. He took a step back, glaring at the floor. Tired or pity, those were the only two ways Mum looked at him these days.

“Can I at least go to the Burrow, then?” 

Mum’s face had that look. The one when she really wanted to say “No.” but didn’t know how without starting a row. 

A crash and burst of laughter came from upstairs, bubblegum pink smoke billowing underneath Jame’s door. 

“Sure, Al,” Mum said quickly, attention already shifted. The last Albus saw of her was the mud print she left on the floor, her voice rising as she rushed up the stairs before the flames enveloped him.

He coughed, stepping into the empty living room, save for Grandad asleep on the couch. He didn’t hear Gran puttering around in the kitchen, so he guessed she was upstairs. 

Albus was silent as he slipped outside to the back garden. The broom shed was empty. ‘Is he not coming?’ No sooner had the thought crossed his mind, was when a body barreled into him. 

“Al!” Scorpius greeted excitedly in his ear. 

“Hey, Scor,” he mumbled into his best mate’s chest. 

“So, how did it go?” Albus asked once they parted. 

“It worked like a charm.” Scorpius grinned broadly, two dimple present. “No pun intended. Grandmother didn’t suspect anything.”

“Good,” Albus said. “How is she? And your father?”

“They’re good. Fine. Great.”

“Really?”

“No,” Scorpius said, dimples gone. 

“And you?” Albus asked, afraid of the answer. 

“It’s summer hols. Who wouldn’t be happy?” 

Who indeed?

“Scor,” Albus said, laying a hand on his shoulder. 

Scorpius’s letters had gotten shorter over the past month, the space on the parchment filled with less and less of his mother’s condition. 

“I don’t know how I am. I had a feeling when I woke up this morning. A feeling today was going to be different.” 

“Maybe you’re turning into a seer now?” Albus teased. 

“Maybe,” Scorpius replied, a small smile playing on his lips. 

“I have an idea,” Scorpius whispered in his ear. 

Albus was pretty much over ideas. Especially the kind Rose Granger-Weasley had. 

The last time he had seen his cousins was Sunday dinner at the Burrow, three weeks before their Mum went missing.

At least, that’s what the _Daily Prophet_ said, anyway.

But, since the _Prophet_ was mostly kept in business through spreading lies about and stalking his family, Albus didn’t put much stock into the story.

Though Dad had been growing tenser and tenser, his hair more and more dishevelled. And even Mum had taken to making fewer jokes about the articles in the _Prophet_ as the length of time without a word from Aunt Hermione stretched on.

So, he told of Grimmauld Place, of the portrait, even though he had absolutely not wanted to go back. His childhood memories of the place as grim as its namesake. 

And now, they were faced with a riddle only fit for a Ravenclaw, and the smartest one they knew was running out of ideas. And all the sandwiches were gone.

“What?” Albus grumbled, “You break down the door like some Gryffindor hero?” 

“No!” Scorpius said, taken aback. “Wait, you think I can break down the door?” 

Albus pinched the skinny, pale arm near him. “No. What’s your idea?” 

His stomach rolled into quintuple somersaults, as the blonde spoke. And he didn’t feel much better even when their hunch was proven right. 

“Let me heal that,” Albus murmured, carefully taking his cousin’s wrist. “Sorry, Hugo. It had to be a surprise, or you wouldn’t have felt in danger.” 

“It’s alright. You opened the wards, didn’t you?”

“You’re very forgiving, Hugo,” Albus said, not knowing if it was a question or an observation.

Hugo shrugged. “I trust you.” 

A small, pitying laugh escaped him.

Hugo frowned and stared at him, long and hard. Long enough that Albus had to fight himself not to look down. 

“You’re a good wizard, Albus,” Hugo said, eventually. 

“They call me Slytherin squib.” 

“Lucky you.” Hugo patted his shoulder. “They just call me a regular squib.”

“What a pair we make, then,” Albus responded because he felt he must say something to those knowing eyes. 

“Wow,” Albus heard Scorpius’s astonished voice, “You two work quickly.”

On the orders of Rose, Albus got to work searching, heading to books flung off the shelves in the left corner of the room. 

Albus reached for the book, stopping short of picking up. He paused, taking a good at the shelf, before shoving the last two books away, revealing a cupboard within the wall. He reached his hand to open, startled when he found no resistance. 

The inside was bare, except for a shallow dish lay, whisps were crawling over the edges. ‘Pensieve’ Albus identified, fingers trailing the initials engraved between the runes. 

Albus felt the regret of what he was about to do before he even resolved to do it. 

There was Aunt Hermione, ink-stained nails and pressed robes, her quill scratching away on the parchment laid on her lap. 

Everything felt oddly serene, for what he assumed was her last memory before her disappearance. 

There were a dozen or so books spread across in front of her. Albus could make out a few words of the tiles: _Moste Evile_ and _Darkest Art_. 

Suddenly, Aunt Hermione’s head shot up, and she began rambling into the open air. 

At first, he thought she was talking to herself — not an uncommon practice for her — until he noticed her eyes keep moving to the same spot, just outside the realm of his sight. 

His vision swam, and he felt a tug in his stomach, pulling him out of the memory.

Albus knew where they needed to go. 

Again.

Unfortunately.

“Why do we need to go to a place called the Death Chamber?” Rose questioned.

“Aunt Hermione mentioned it,” Albus answered, choosing his words carefully. “I saw her there in the pensieve; that’s what she called it.”

“Finis. Finish. Farewell,” Hugo repeated. 

“They’re all synonyms for death!” Scorpius blurted. 

Rose’s suspicious stare didn’t subside. “There’s something else. Something you’re not telling us.” 

Albus forced himself not to clench his jaw. 

“She’s right,” Scorpius said.

Not that you’d ever believe the opposite, Albus thought. 

“She was talking to someone. I don’t know who,” Albus hedged. 

“And?”

“It was,” Albus said, heart racing, “It was about something called a ‘Horcrux’. Whatever the tesseract is, it’s related to dark magic.” 

“We don’t know that for sure,” Rose insisted, wringing her hands, “Mum wouldn’t practise the Dark Arts.”

But the doubt creeping into her tone was evident.

“We’ll ask her when we find her, Rose,” Hugo spoke. “But first, we need a plan.” 

Rose determined their mode of travel.

“We’re connected to the Ministry through the floo,” she informed them. 

Albus provided their way to enter the atrium without arousing suspicion right away.

“I have my Dad’s invisibility cloak,” Albus said, pulling it out of his robe pocket. 

Hugo would act as their distraction for the guard and lead them to the lift.

“Please,” Hugo said, eyes welling up, “I’ve lost my mummy.”

“He would make a great Slytherin,” Scorpius murmured in his ear. 

“Oh, darling. Do you remember which floor she works on?”

Hugo sniffled. “I don’t remember. She’s just gone.” 

“Oh, dear. We’ll just go into the lift together. We’ll find your Mum, don’t worry, luv.”

Then, Rose would stun them.

They shuffled into the lift right after the wizard, Albus using his foot to keep the door open.

The tip of Rose’s wand poked out of the cloak. _“Stupefy,”_ she muttered, unfamiliar Latin words following.

The wizard’s body stiffened, a blindfold coming over their eyes, tight earmuffs appearing on their ears.

“Now they won’t be able to tell what floor we went to,” she explained, stepping out of the cloak.

And together they would take the lift to the ninth floor.

Albus stepped off first into a dimly lit corridor, torches lining the wall. The room was sealed almost totally; there were no windows and only a lone door. 

He brought his palm up but never made contact, the door opening of its own accord.

“It’s just another room,” Albus lamented, taking in the circular space they were in, “with more doors.”

The obsidian walls and candles washing everyone’s face in indigo, made him feel like he was lost in a deep underwater trench. 

He felt Scorpius shiver next to him. Albus brushed his arm against his friend, recalling the many nights first-year he had to shake Scorpius awake from nightmares of drowning. 

Before Albus could comfort him with words, the walls began to spin. He latched on tighter to Scorpius, huddling closer to his cousins. 

Scorpius giggled nervously as the room came to a standstill. “Is this what those muggle rollercoasters are like?” 

Albus held Scorpius’s sweaty palm tighter. “My stomach seems to think so.” 

“The doors have moved,” Rose observed. “They don’t want us to know where we’re going.”

“...Or how to leave,” Albus said, almost to himself.

“Should we —” Scorpius broke off. 

Rose thrust open the first door, marching inside.

The incessant sound of the ticking of clocks instantly put Albus on edge; the violent, shimmering lights surrounding them made him squint. 

“There’s another door,” Rose urged, not waiting for them as she weaved through the desks, disappearing into the next room Hugo and Scorpius right behind her. 

Albus crossed the threshold next; goosebumps rose on his skin instantly at the frigid air. 

He pulled his jumper over his hands and looked up — and up, and up, and up. 

Shelves towered above them, filled with glass orbs. Albus first thought they were Remembralls; however, on closer inspection, the spheres were larger, and without any of the expected detailing. 

He reached for one. 

“No!” Rose grabbed his wrist. “It doesn’t have your name on it.” 

“And it’s got yours, does it?” 

“I just,” Rose looked around frantically, “I have a bad feeling.” 

Albus blinked at her. “Congratulations to you for figuring that out now. I’ve had that feeling all day.” 

“Albus!” yelled two voices at once. 

“Albus!” Scorpius called again. “Rose Granger-Weasley! I think you two should come and see this!” 

Albus, suppressing the bit of nostalgia that swam to the surface at the commiserating glance he shared with Rose, started running. 

They found him balancing Hugo on his shoulders; his tiny hands grasping for an orb. 

“Hugo, get down,” Rose said sternly. _“Hugo Antigonus —”_

Hugo attempted to grab the sphere again, wobbling a bit. 

_“Molliare,”_ he and Rose said in sync, just in time as Hugo and Scorpius toppled to the ground. 

For a moment Albus was worried that the spell hadn’t worked. Then, Scorpius started giggling, torso shaking with the force of his laughs. And it was catching, too, by the little noises Hugo was making. 

“What were you thinking?” Rose demanded, checking Hugo over. 

“It had Mum’s name on it,” he said.

“And this one has your Dad, Al.” Scorpius pointed to an orb just next to Albus’s ear. 

“The whole row does,” Albus said, unsure of what that meant. He tried to pick up the sphere again, but there was an invisible force keeping his fingertips from meeting glass. 

“We shouldn’t take anything from here.” Rose’s tone brooked no argument as she walked off. 

Albus didn’t. 

He reached. 

“Albus!” 

He juggled with the sphere, then stuffed it into his cloak pocket, grudgingly following Rose’s summons. 

The first thing Albus noticed was the massive tank in the centre of the room. Its viridescent hue reminded him of the light Great Lake cast in the Slytherin common room. Though, instead of mermaids, the tank was filled with floating white masses. 

Albus swallowed the bile rising in his throat. “Are those —” 

“Brains,” Rose said breathlessly.

“Rose!” Hugo shouted, head poking out from the desk he had crawled underneath. “There’s something here. Here, help me move it.”

Together, the three were able to move through the combined force of their _‘Leviosa’_. 

On the floor was a wooden trap door that gave away with little resistance. 

No one moved. 

“Should we Cloak Wand Stone for who’s going first?” Scorpius proposed nervously. 

“I’ll do it,” Rose volunteered.

“Rose,” Hugo said, crossing his arms, “you’re claustrophobic.”

“So?” Rose said forcefully, mouth pinched. “It’s dangerous. Which is why I’ll do —” 

With siblings lost in their bickering, Albus took the opportunity to yank open the trap door, and jump down feet first.

Albus’s first thought when he heard glass shatter, was _‘Seven more years of bad luck.’_ The second was _‘Merlin that stings.’_

“Are you mental?” Rose shrieked, voice echoing in throughout the oval-shaped room. 

“Don’t come down,” Albus warned. He patted himself over and made sure nothing was broken. “I need someone to pull me back up.”

“You’re not staying down there alone!” Rose protested. 

“Stand back! I’m coming down.”

Albus saw dragonhide shoes, pleated trousers, then the entirety of Scorpius dropped into view. 

“Merlin, Morgana, and Mordred, Al! These cuts are deep —”

“Ow,” Albus hissed as Scorpius gently wrapped Albus’s hand with a handkerchief. “Why do you have that?”

“A gentlewizard always carries a handkerchief.”

Albus put his uninjured hand over his eyes, hiding from the adoring look staring back at him from thousands of mirrors. 

“What’s down there? Are there more doors?” came Rose’s voice from above. 

“No,” Scorpius answered. “There’s really only one exit, leading further into the room.” 

The mirrors concaved into a murky oblong opening, what lay ahead undistinguishable. 

Albus communicated silently with Scorpius. 

“We’re going to follow it,” Albus said. 

There were hushed sounds from above before Hugo gave them a soft-spoken “Okay.” 

Albus casted _‘Lumos’_ , illuminating the apprehension in Scorpius’s grey eyes. 

He crossed the threshold. 

It was dark. 

So impossibly dark. 

Albus felt Scorpius’s breaths on the back of his head as they travelled further into the darkness; their wands barely making a dent in its absoluteness. 

Albus was unsure if it was seconds, minutes, or hours before they came across the light. A single lit candelabra dangling from the lintel revealed crumbling walls; the contents of the room still in shadow. 

Albus stepped forward, and tripped over his shoelace, leg knocking into something. 

“I’m fine,” Albus said, waving Scorpius off. 

He bent down to see the floor, finding empty cages pushed against the wall. A low shelf was placed above them, seeming bare except for a large covering of dust. 

But something glinted in the light. 

Albus held his wand closer, reaching a hand to pick up the object tucked into the corner. 

It was small, translucent, 90-degree lines visible. Albus thought it resembled a cube within a cube. 

Albus made to get Scorpius’s attention when something brushed against his cheek. 

He froze. 

“Al,” Scorpius whimpered, “is that you?” 

_“Ex...”_ Albus shuddered, knees giving out, _“...pec...to...Pa...pa...tronum...”_ A tiny wisp emitted from Albus’s wand, driving the charcoal figure inches away from his face back. 

Albus rolled over and dragged Scorpius away from the cage. _“Mother...”_ he heard Scorpius say. Albus staggered up, taking as much weight of his friend as he could, and started running in the opposite direction.

Everything was a blur. 

It was black, black, black. 

Thousands of scared faces gaped at him. 

Broken glass crunched under his feet.

Nails dug into his skins he was hauled up, and into the light. 

Rose swore, pushing him away from Scorpius’s limp body. 

Hugo’s fingers attempting to shove a chocolate frog into his hand. “Are you —” 

“I’m fine,” Albus snapped. 

“He has a pulse,” Rose said. “He’s just passed out. He should wake up in —”

“Al,” Scorpius slurred, blinking. 

Albus took the pale hand being offered. He threw an arm around Scorpius’s middle to help him sit up. And then, throwing caution as well, went in for a hug, the sound of Scorpius’s heartbeat settling his own. 

“Did you tie your shoes?” Scorpius asked. 

“What?” Albus mumbled into his chest. 

“Your shoe was untied,” he said. “You could have tripped down there.” 

Choked laughter escaped Albus’s lips. “Okay, Mum. I’ll tie my shoes.”

Albus didn’t move. 

“Thanks, Hugo,” Scorpius said quietly, taking the chocolate frog Albus had refused earlier. He heard him chew and swallow the entire frog whole. 

“We should —” 

“I’m —” 

Rose and Scorpius broke off, staring awkwardly at each other. 

Scorpius licked his lips. “I’m fine. Or better. Ready to walk again. Definitely.” 

“You don’t have to…” Rose trailed off. “Dementors. Here. In the Ministry. Mum said they were driven out of Britain years ago.”

Albus could see the conflict in her dark brown eyes. 

“I need to find these answers. If you two want to leave, if you want to take Hugo —” 

“No.” Hugo’s shoulders shook with intensity. “I’m staying.” 

“I want to help!” Scorpius exclaimed. 

“Albus?” 

He startled. Not by the question, but that it was Rose, not Scorpius asking him his opinion, giving him a choice. 

“One more door.”

He could do one more thing, to help his cousins see this through. 

“One more door,” Albus repeated. “And after that, we try a new way of finding answers.” 

Rose nodded; a short, quick acquiescence. 

She hovered close, both his cousins did, as Scorpius stood from the ground. 

He took one, two, three steps then jogged away from them. _‘See,’_ he seemed to say with the quirk of an eyebrow, hands splayed wide, fever in his eyes, _‘I’m fine.’_

The thing in Albus’s pocket burned, as Scorpius pushed open the final door. 

The room was exactly as strange as Albus expected, the change noticeable in the air as they crossed the doorway. The stone archway brittle with age, the veil tattered in the same manner. 

But there was another surprise to be had; the room was already occupied.

The ghost lifted her head to stare at them.

“You’re Eloise Mintumbe,” Rose said in awe.

“Rose,” Albus hissed as she bounded down the steps.

Running a hand through his hair, he ran after her, keeping pace with Scorpius, Hugo just ahead of them. 

Rose babbling had already begun by the time Albus caught up. “You’re the most infamous time-traveller! You were an Unspeakable that got trapped in 1402. You died at St. Mungos, but there’s nothing about you being a ghost in any of my text —”

“Rose,” Hugo interrupted.

Rose vibrated with so much excitement stray curls were hitting Albus’s face. “Are you familiar with the word, tesseract?”

The ghost gazed fascinated at the four of them. “Yes, it is a rather old concept. Few have done it successfully.” 

“But what is it?”

Mintumble’s face contorted. “It’s a mode of travel, through space or time. It’s troublesome to explain without understanding —”

“So, it’s like time-travel? Or apparition?” Rose asked impatiently.

“Mayhaps. Tessering allows you to go farther and further than any witch or wizard could comprehend. New universes, new worlds.”

Rose tilted her head. “How do you do it, then? We know —”

Albus stepped on her foot, purposefully. 

They needed to learn information, not give it away. 

“It’s impossible,” the ghost said. 

Rose put her hands on hips, stubbornly glaring at the ghost. “Obviously not! Since my mother did it!”

Hugo touched Rose’s arm, and she took a deep breath.

Scorpius filled the silence. “Madam Mintumble, is there another way?” 

The ghost sighed. “There’s one place where all lost souls go.” Albus felt a chill as she pointed a translucent finger at the centre of the room. “Through the Veil.”


	4. Chapter III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scorpius filled the silence. “Madam Mintumble, is there another way?” 
> 
> The ghost sighed. “There’s one place where all lost souls go.” Albus felt a chill as she pointed a translucent finger at the centre of the room. “Through the Veil.”

“Is this some kind of —”

“Madam Mintumble if you could just —” 

Albus gave a jerk of the head. 

“— riddle? Place where lost souls go? What the bloody hell —” 

“— explain what exactly is behind the veil. Is it —?”

“No.” 

“— does that mean? Is our Mum there or not?” 

“— dangersome? Life-threatening?”

_“No.”_

On and on they went. 

Hugo ignored the lot of them. 

Mum was lost. Rose and Scorpius could talk it to (or about) death. Albus could try all the different ways he knew how to say “No.” But that didn’t change anything. 

Mum was lost, and there was a way to find her. 

Refusing to waste another second, Hugo dove — eyes wide open — through the veil. 

Everything was still, and for a second he forgot to breathe, then… 

“Hugo!” Rose screeched, grabbing his arm in a vice grip. “What were you bloody thinking! You could have —” 

“Rose Granger-Weasley!” Scorpius squawked.

Albus’s swearing in parseltongue followed not long after. 

Hugo kept his tiny smile to himself. However, it faded when he looked ahead. Rose and Scorpius shouting quieted, Albus’s hissing trailed off, as they too took notice of the dark, square building in front of them. 

The windows were stained with grime, the brick faded, the high railings rusted. The grimness of the structure matched the atmosphere perfectly. The sky was a gloomy grey dotted with dense, oppressive clouds that seemed seconds from spitting rain.

“Wool’s Orphanage,” Rose read, tilting her head up. Her hand slipped through the gate, tugging on it. 

“Wait,” Albus said, the tense look on his face making Hugo’s spine straighten. 

“Are you...do you realize what’s happened? That we’re stuck here, without a way to get home.” His hands balled into fists, lips barely moving. “That we’ll never leave here.”

“Albus,” Scorpius said, voice a whisper.

“No,” Albus seethed, tugging at his hair. “Do you know the kind of mistake we’ve made?”

“We haven’t made a mistake,” Rose said, clipped. “Once we find Mum —” 

“Have you even once thought there’s a reason Aunt Hermione hasn’t come back?”

Hugo flinched. Albus didn’t scream them, but the words seemed to hurt their ears the same. 

“Mum’s not dead,” Rose said forcefully. “She’s not.” 

“But do you know that? Truly?” Albus asked, eye’s shining, voice stiff. 

“I’m not afraid of the truth, Albus.” Hugo couldn’t tell if that was a lie or not if Rose even knew herself. “Are you?”

“The truth’s got nothing to with this —”

“Fear does! You’re scared and —”

“I’m not a Gryffindor, some mindless hero, letting blind bravery drive him!”

_“But are you a coward?”_

“Okay,” Scorpius said, stepping between the two, resting a hand on Albus’s shoulder. “I think we’re all a little scared. But we shouldn’t let fear assume the worst possibility as a reality. And that doesn’t mean...” He swallowed, looking down. “It doesn’t mean...”

“Dead. It doesn’t mean dead,” Hugo said succinctly. He met everyone’s eyes, once, made his conviction plain on his face. He was not ferocious, he was not subtle; he was honest. “This is where lost souls are. Not dead.”

The next few seconds were strained, as Rose and Albus communicated with their eyes, in a way Hugo hadn’t witnessed in almost three years. 

Belatedly, Albus nodded. 

Rose, sparing one glance at him, nodded back, then, pushed open the gate and stalked through. 

Hugo hung back to walk with Albus. 

“What is it?” Hugo asked him. 

“I shouldn’t have said...what I said...like that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. But that’s not all of it, though, is it?”

Albus took the invisibility cloak out of his robe pocket. 

“You should take this. Put it in your magic pouch thing.” 

Hugo dug his hands into his jean pockets. “I’m not defenceless. And it’s called a gibeciere.”

Really, what Hugo had was a hoodie pocket enhanced by the extension charm. 

“You don’t have a wand, and if something... _bad_...happens, you should have the option to hide.”

“The option?” Hugo parroted back. 

“Being raised by Gryffindors? There’s not much guarantee you’ll avoid trouble.”

“So are you.” 

His smile was acerbic. “White Thestral.”

Hugo took the cloak and put it in his pocket. “You’re the only one worried about you and cowardice, Albus.”

Rather than wait to see what effect his words had, Hugo ran up the stone steps to the building. 

It took the four of them to open the heavy door to the building; the slamming of it resonating within the room. 

“Hello?” Rose called, voice echoing.

_Surely, if someone had not heard Rose, they would have caught the noisiness of the door,_ Hugo thought.

“This place is very,” Scorpius paused, “...austere.” 

A staircase split the room in half. Though, there was not much to the room at all. It lacked paintings, photographs, any sign of life. The walls were an unremarkable shade of beige with a carpet to match.

“It’s deserted,” Albus said cheerlessly.

Hugo was not sure if that was true. Nor was he sure if it was the oldness or spareness of the room that discomforted him. It was familiar in its muggle decor, but a feeling of magic still hung in the edges. 

“We should find the kitchen,” Hugo suggested. 

“We should be looking for people, not food,” Rose responded stonily. 

“People eat, Rose,” Hugo pointed out, thinking that the kitchen could tell them more than any other room in the building. “Besides, we haven’t eaten in hours.”

“Fine,” Rose agreed with a rub her forehead. “The state of the cupboards will at least tell us if anyone’s been here in ages.”

Hugo took her hand as they walked, attempting to endue Rose with assurance. He tried not to listen to the snippets of the conversation, mostly just a steady litany in Scorpius’s voice, of two boys behind them. 

Finally, they came to a set of wooden double doors down the corridor which led to a kitchen ripped out of an old photograph. There was a gas cooker, a sink mounted to the wall, and a few wood countertops and cupboards, his mind readily added a sepia tint to all it. 

He was almost hesitant to search the cupboard, afraid it would crumble into nothingness at the slightest touch. His concern was unfounded as the furniture remained intact through his examination. 

For his trouble, Hugo ended up with cobwebs on his sleeves, but, thankfully, no spiders. Unfortunately, there was no food as well. 

“There’s nothing here. Not even a rat with a crumb,” Albus said, slamming a cupboard shut. “This place is abandoned.” 

“Then why is the table’s set?” Rose said, swinging a set of doors open to a dining hall. 

As if on cue, a bell sounded. 

Children began to march in, two single-file lines of steady rhythm. They moved like puppets, limbs controlled by jerky movements to stand at the table. The scratch of twelve chairs being pulled back simultaneously followed. The children pulled their bowls close towards them, mechanically sinking their spoons in, then bringing it to their mouths. 

“These bowls are empty,” Rose said puzzled. 

“Their clothes are awfully threadbare,” Scorpius said. “Hello, can you hear me?” he kindly asked the child nearest to him. 

“We should leave,” Albus said gravely, the only one having not advanced to the table. “There’s something wrong here.”

Hugo could not dispute the offputting nature of the kids. 

Their young faces were slack, eyes unfocused, and they hadn’t even twitched once at any of the noise they made. 

The wariness Hugo felt was mirrored in varying quantities on the faces of his companions. 

“We can’t leave,” Rose repudiated. “But you’re right. There is something wrong here. Someone’s missing.” 

Four pairs of eyes landed on the vacant spot at the table.

“The children must be the orphans living here,” Rose speculated. “Which means someone has to be taking care of them.”

The bell sounded, again, putting them on alert. The children stood up and made to leave the table, their movements a reverse of before. 

“Come on,” Rose ordered, right on the children’s heels. “We have to follow them.”

The children lead them out a second door, up a second staircase, and into a corridor where twelve doors were open. They disappeared into the room, doors closing in one mere snick. 

This left a single door, number 27, open just a hair. 

“We can’t just go in,” Albus said before any of them approached it. “There might be someone casting Unforgivables around here.”

“You think those kids are under the Imperius curse?” Scorpius asked, appalled. 

“It fits.” 

The thought made Hugo sick. 

Hugo had known about the Unforgivables since he was eight. Mum and Dad had set him and Rose down and explained the grittier parts of the Wizarding World, explained to the Granger-Weasley children they had to be watchful, be more careful than other children because of who their parents were. 

Hugo had known they existed but had not considered them an actual peril until now. Now, they were without Mum or Dad, without the protection he had always expected in a situation like this. 

“Then we’ll fight it,” Rose said fiercely, daringly, wand out and clenched in a fist. 

“You can’t duel everyone into submission, Rose,” Albus bit out.

“I won’t have to. Fighting the Imperius curse is about will. And whether you’ve got enough of it.”

Albus’s unhappy look did not waver. 

“If you want to give up —”

“I’m not saying give up.”

“Then what are you saying?” 

“That we’re in danger!”

“You said it yourself, Albus: that’s not new!”

“You’re not the only one recognizing there’s a danger here, Albus,” Scorpius took Albus’s non-wand hand. “But things will get worse if we do nothing.” 

“Are you with us or not?”

Hugo looked at Albus and already knew his answer. 

“Just go.”

Room 27 was a bedroom containing the bare essentials: a bed, a wardrobe, and a desk with a chair. 

“I swear if you betray us for Turkish Delight…” Rose said to Scorpius as she pulled at the wardrobe.

“What? Never! What is that even?” 

“Muggle book,” Rose answered shortly. _“Alohomora.”_ She pulled at the wardrobe again. Nothing happened. 

“I don’t think that’s working,” Albus said.

“You try, then.”

“Albus, tell it to open.”

“This doesn’t seem like an anthropomorphic wardrobe.” Rose poked the varnish. “Those kinds of objects make themselves known early.” 

“Yeah,” Albus said, “I doubt we’re lucky enough for this to be the wardrobe from Beauty and the Beast either.” 

“I know that one! The wizard botches his animagus form, then falls in love with a muggle.” 

“In parseltongue,” Hugo amended, directing their attention to the minute serpentine accents etched into the wood. 

Albus sibilated at the wardrobe, and the door swung open. 

There was no clothes, no gateway to Narnia, only a tin box. 

“Wicked,” Hugo said, picking up the box. 

Scorpius clapped and said, “Yes, Absolutely wicked, Al.”

Hugo took off the lid and his blood went cold. 

“Hugo,” he heard Rose say faintly. “Hugo, what is that?”

Hugo showed her the contents of the box: a harmonica, a silver thimble, a red yo-yo and — 

“Is that Mum’s wand?” 

“What’s left of it,” Hugo said ruefully. The vinewood was snapped cleanly into two. “And her necklace.” He held both items in his hand. 

“She has to be here,” Rose said almost to herself. “She would never leave without her wand.” 

“Willingly,” said Albus, strained but resigned to always be the bearer of bad news. “Willingly leave.”

“Did you —” Scorpius’s head swivelled around. “What was that?”

“What?” Rose said. 

Scorpius opened the door and let out a scream, scrambling away from the doorway.

Something, no, someone, slithered out from the shadows. 

Hugo’s first observation upon seeing him was that he was handsome.

His second was that he didn’t trust him.

He wore his handsome face like a mask, only his cold unsettling eyes moving, the rest a visage made of stone. 

“You’ve made it,” declared a silken voice.

Hugo stared at the man, troubled; his mouth had not moved at all.

Rose’s fingers dug into his arm. “Did you hear that?”

“Don’t look him directly in the eyes,” Scorpius said, tone distraught. “He’s using legilimency.” 

“Curious, that should be four of you. I wonder if you are destined to split, like another quartet?” 

“Who are you? Have seen our Mum?” Rose questioned.

The man chuckled. “How would I know who your Mother was, child?”

“Is,” Hugo corrected, scowling, “Who our Mum is. She’s still alive.”

“Is she now?” The man’s eyes seemed to grow sharper.

Rose pressed in closer. He could smell the scent of her hair, kiwi and orange, just like Mum’s, calming him. 

The stillness was broken by Albus, saying, decisively, “I think you should stop asking questions, and start answering.”

The man’s face twitched, the first movement since they came across him. 

“My, my, aren’t you familiar?” 

Hugo could see the clench of Albus’s jaw. 

“But so young,” the man said, voice low.

“Cheers. Those anti-ageing potions really do work wonders. I can lend you a copy of my Mum’s Witches Weekly if you want to place an order.”

Hugo covered his mouth, hiding his grin.

Scorpius coughed, struggling to stifle his snickering. “Excuse me, sir, have you seen, or, heard, anyone else here?”

“Yes, stopped for a spot of tea in anyone else’s mind?” Albus said with scorn. 

“And the impertinence. But your eyes! Never had I imagined eyes fascinating as yours, child!” 

“Listen,” Rose spoke, commanding the man’s attention, “we’re looking for a woman about this height,” Rose lifted her hand a few centimetres from her head, “hair like mine, wearing Ministry robes.”

“Probably smarter than you,” Albus added. 

“Doubtful.” 

Rose glowered at the man. “So you have been in contact with her?” 

“Yes.” He clasped his hands together.

Rose stomped forward, almost putting her wand in the man’s left nostril. “Then, where the bloody hell is she?”

The man chuckled, again, unperturbed.

She took an instinctive step back, though her wand lingered on his face. 

Everyone had tried their best skills to gain information. Rose had interrogated, Scorpius had coaxed, and Albus had riled. 

Maybe it was time for Hugo’s method. Tearing away from the Scorpius, Hugo punched the man in the stomach, thumb outside, the way Lucy had taught him. 

His arm went right through him, the man unflinching, confirming Hugo’s hunch. 

“He’s a ghost,” he said, allowing Albus and Scorpius to sandwich him between them. 

He was the least transparent ghost Hugo had ever seen, but fists or wands would do the same amount of damage. Although Rose’s face remained pinched like she would still try to hex him. 

“Clever little boy.” 

“Sir,” Scorpius recalculated, “if you could just please tell us where she is, we’d be very grateful.”

The man’s eyes were sharp. “How much?”

And Hugo sure that any price this man asked for would be too much.

Abruptly, Albus spoke, his words causing a drop in Hugo’s stomach.

“You’ll show us where she is?”

‘Vicious’ came into clarity in Hugo’s mind as the man grinned, all teeth. 

“Albus? Albus, what are you doing?” Rose asked, voice hard, but the quivering of her wand betrayed her.

“Al, no,” Scorpius begged.

“Albus,” Hugo said softly. 

But his face was already resigned. “There’s no other way,” Albus said finally. And before they could say anymore, Albus looked directly into the man’s eyes. 

Hugo sucked in a breath. Helplessly, he watched as Albus’s pupils vanished, emerald completely swallowing his eyes. 

“I know where she is,” Albus said tonelessly. 

He started moving towards the open door, sweeping past them. 

“Albus! Albus? _Al?_ ” 

“Where’s the man —”

“He’s gone,” Hugo confirmed for the both of them. 

“We have to follow him,” Scorpius said urgently, feet already moving. 

Rose grabbed Scorpius’s arm, jerking him away from the door. “We can’t just follow — We have to think.” 

“We have to help him,” Scorpius insisted, trying to wiggle away from her. 

Hugo moved to catch the sleeve of Scorpius’s robe, helping her keep hold of Scorpius. “We’re going to follow him. But we have to stay together,” he said steadily. His eyes pleaded with Rose. 

Rose bit her upper lip for a long second before releasing. “Scorpius get your wand out,” she said grimly. “You won’t do much protecting without it.”

Hugo, knowing their only move was forward, set on.

They didn’t speak, though Scorpius seemed close at instances, his mouth working, words unforthcoming. 

The corridor seemed to stretch on forever, the increasing whiteness of the walls the only sign hinting of progress. 

“We’re here,” Albus intoned, halting. 

He had led them into a room was devoid of colour, furniture, even the door had vanished once they stepped inside. 

The only object in the room was a transparent floor to ceiling structure, resembling a curio cabinet without glass. 

“MUM!” 

Hugo couldn’t stop his shout of relief or his feet from moving. A flash of red passed close to his ear, just missing him with Rose’s yank of his arm.

“Don’t be a fool child.”

Rose raised her wand in Albus’s direction. “You may have Albus’s face, but if you raise that wand…” Rose fell silent, eerie laughter from Albus drowning her out. 

“We have to do something,” Scorpius trembled. 

_But what? But what? But what?_ Hugo thought in a mantra. 

“You don’t think…” Hugo said, considering.

“What?” Rose said, harshly as he dug through his hoodie. 

_Discernment_ , Luna had said. 

“Rose, What is easy to spot, when allowed to plume, but is hard to see, when held in a room?”

“Riddles? _Now?_ ” Rose said furiously. 

“Rose the Ravenclaw!”

_“Fumos!”_

Hugo slipped Luna’s glasses on to his face and could see clearly, could see Mum trapped within the glass. He threw the invisibility cloak over his head and ran through the vapour, right through the column. 

“Mum! Mum!”

“Hugo!” Mum cried, enveloping him in her arms, tears dampening his hair. 

“Mum, we have to go, right now,” he said, hating that he had to let go. 

“Go? What’s happened?”

“It’s Albus, and Rose, and Scorpius. They need our help.” 

_“Scorpius Malfoy?”_

“I don’t think there’s another Scorpius in Britain, Mum.” 

Mum still didn’t move, just continued to card her hands over his face, sweeping over his eyebrows and behind his ears. 

And Hugo realized, “You can’t see. Here, Mum, put these on.” 

He handed her Luna’s glasses, plunging himself into darkness. 

“Better?” 

“Yes,” Mum said. “But how do we get out?” 

“We just have to walk. It’s the glasses, Mum. They work. I have your necklace, too. But your wand is broken.” 

“How did you — What has been —” 

“Please, Mum. They need us.” 

“Alright, then. Hold my hand, Hugo, and don’t let go,” Mum instructed. 

They crossed the column and ran right into a body. 

“Mum!”

“Rose!”

“Are you —”

“— alright? How did —”

“— the two of you —”

“— get here? Do you know —” 

“— how long have I been gone?” 

They volleyed back and forth. 

Hugo coughed, covering his mouth with his hoodie. Rose must have cast the smokescreen spell more than once because it now filled the room. 

“Where’s Scorpius and Albus?” he asked, muffled. 

“After I set Albus’s robes on fire, I think he stunned him.” 

“Scorpius, are you near? Have you got Albus?” Mum asked.

“Yes.” He breathed heavily. “I had to tackle him. He shook off a stunner. Have you found your Mum?”

“I’m here, Scorpius. Keep talking. We’ll find you. And then we all will leave here.” 

There was the sound of a choked noise. 

“Mum, what was that?”

“Stay close,” Mum commanded. “Scorpius you have to talk to us, so we can find you.” 

There was silence. 

“Is he —”

“No, his presence is still here. But he can’t speak, I don’t —” Mum stopped, frustrated.

“Immobulus,” he heard Rose shout, a flash of blue striking out, her spell just shy.

This broke the vapour, and for the second he could see, Hugo used it to his advantage. He ran a few feet forward to grab at one of the boys’ robes. 

The boys fell to the floor in a heap. Hugo laid on the ground, the wind knocked out him. He heard Scorpius cry out, Mum and Rose shouting for him. 

Two jets of light shot over his head, briefly illuminating the shining tears in Scorpius’s grey eyes, the bruises on his pale neck. 

“Scorpius? Scorpius are you alright?”

Something made a grab for Hugo, but he kicked as hard as he could. He heard a crunch, then a sotto voice.

_“Two souls intertwined...not of the same kind...”_

“Hugo!” Mum cried from somewhere. 

There were too many voices too close to him, and Hugo couldn’t tell which he should follow. 

_“...in divine need of escape...only the Tesseract can save their fates...”_

Someone grabbed him, and Hugo was ready to kick again until a fruity scent reached his nose.

“Mum, you have to use the Tesseract,” Rose implored from his right. 

Hugo clenched his fist tighter around Scorpius’s leg. This time, with him unsure of what was about to happen, Hugo closed his eyes. 

It wasn’t like side-along apparition at all.

He wasn’t being squeezed, like toothpaste through a tube as Dad had described before. It was more like every bit of him was missing. 

For a long moment, he thought he thought every bit of him was splinching, fragmenting into thousands of pieces. 

He would have thought it was still behind the veil, except for the permanenting absence. There was nothing, all of his senses lost. 

The only thing keeping him confident of his existence was his thoughts. 

And where was Mum? 

Rose? 

Scorpius?

Albus?

Hugo had to find them. 

He had to.

Awareness struck him: heart plummeting, head pounding, throat constricting. 

“Hermione?”


	5. Chapter IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hugo had to find them. 
> 
> He had to.
> 
> Awareness struck him: heart plummeting, head pounding, throat constricting. 
> 
> “Hermione?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“You mean you’re comparing our lives to a sonnet? A strict form, but freedom within it?”_
> 
> _“Yes.” Mrs Whatsit said. “You’re given the form, but you have to write the sonnet yourself. What you say is completely up to you.”_
> 
> pg. 219, A Wrinkle in Time (1962)

All he could feel was the dew soaking his back, Rose’s nails biting into his skin, the sweatiness of Hugo’s palm. 

Everything was loud, loud, loud. High-pitched sounds, rapid panting, and the crescendo of voices; they would not stop. 

He was down to two senses and trying not to lose himself to either one. 

He was stone, he was marble, and he was floating away. 

He tried to move his locked limbs, to cling to the human touch. He tried to crawl, thought of sinking his nails into the earth. He tried to grasp, at Rose’s arm, Hugo’s leg, but even that simple motion was lost to him in this state. 

There was the feeling of cotton against his skin, the cacophony dimming to a hush. 

Someone was clawing his jaw open, spilling liquid into his gaping mouth. He could not swallow, he was frozen in time, waiting to choke. Then all at once, his muscles contracted, the liquid sliding down, down, down. 

He passed out. 

Scorpius came to with a chill up his spine, it sprung forth into every single bone, through his blood, sunk into his skin. 

But he could not move. 

And, _Merlin_ , did he want to open eyes, wiggle his toes, scratch his nose. 

But he could not move. 

He did not know if he was awake; if this was a nightmare, reality or both. 

Scorpius felt the cold press of a towel on his forehead. 

“There, there,” a voice, low and raspy, soothed.

Scorpius hoped they were a healer, and that they would give him some potions soon, and not just a damp cloth. 

A hand moved over his neck, and Scorpus wanted to recoil. 

But — well you’ve gotten the point by now, at the very least? 

“I can help his bruising. But I can’t do anything for his vocal cords in this state. We need to call a healer,” the same raspy voice said. 

“We can’t,” said a new voice. It was familiar, and yet not to Scorpius’s sluggish mind.

“I understand this is sensitive — this You-Know-Fool rot — but Scorpius, he’s not getting better.”

“We can’t take the risk of inquiry. Any questions they will ask of me, I can’t answer.” 

“Can’t or won’t?” 

“Andromeda, _please_. You’ve known me twenty-one years.” 

“And you’ve never called me Andy. I’m not your first person to run to in a crisis. So why are you refusing to call the first two?” 

“Are you forgetting you’re the one who suggested the Unbreakable Vow?” 

“When I agreed, I didn’t know it also came at the price of children’s lives.” 

“I never wanted the children involved with this. Never. Everything I’ve done, and will do is to protect them.” 

A long pause. 

“An hour. There’s only so much Rennervate can do.” 

There was the sound of a door shutting. 

The consciousness Scorpius had been hanging on to slipped from him willingly. 

He was laying in the field of poppies, as he used to when he was a little boy, old enough to know better but young enough to still claim innocence. 

He knew Mother would pretend to be cross but would end up laying beside him until Helia came and called them both for dinner. 

He waited and waited and waited for this to come true. He waited so long he forgot he was doing so at all. 

He remembered when a hand brushed over his cheek, blocking the sun rays kissing his cheeks. 

His eyes fluttered open. 

Mother was saying something, lips moving insistently, but his ears were clogged.

“Galleon,” the shape of her lips made. 

He could not make out the rest, and his eyelids were drooping, begging to close. He was tempted, so very tempted, to just rest. And why should he not, he was with Mother, in her garden, he was safe. 

A serpent appeared, cutting through the vivid red meadow. 

Scorpius, eyes wide, wondered if it had something to say as well. 

But it stayed silent, as it made its way to him, trailing over his legs, tickling his tummy, wrapping around his neck.

Scorpius thought this is it: it’s going to whisper a secret in my ear. 

But the snake constricted and kept doing so. 

His vision faded not to black, but blue. 

There was still pressure on his chest, his throat constricting, but the snake was gone. 

Scorpius was alone.

Scorpius was alone, and he was choking. 

Scorpius was alone, and he was drowning. 

Scorpius was alone, and drowning, and going to die. 

And he did not know which was the worst. 

Scorpius woke up screaming. 

Or he thought he did. 

But his body was still as before, heartbeat running away like his limbs craved. 

_Help!_ Scorpius pleaded, screamed, sobbed. 

There was humming in his head, a melody he had never heard before. 

The music was pulling him from the undertow, reminding him the surface existed. But now Scorpius feared the surface and not water. Because what if he was being led by siren song? 

What if this act of trust was his last? 

He felt air. 

He was not alone.

“You’re awake.” 

And Scorpius knew this was true because the voice was not his mother, the only person he dreamed about. 

A vial, instead of his wand, was pressed into his searching hand. 

Scorpius stared blearily at it, trying to examine the colour. What did his father say; that the poisonous ones were always more opaque or less?

“It’s a Calming Draught.” 

His mind was a flurry of questions: _Where’s Al? How are Rose and Hugo? Is their mother safe? Does my father know where I am?_

“Drink.” 

Scorpius did. 

“Rose and Hugo are fine. Their mother is too. I haven’t been in contact with your father.” 

It’s not until Scorpius pulls the vial from his mouth that he realizes he has not spoken aloud. 

Not a word. 

_“What — My Occlumency shields — How did you — What?”_

“I think,” the woman said gently, “you need to breathe.”

So, Scorpius took her advice. He breathed in and out in four uneven bursts before falling in line with her steady rhythm. 

_“So you’re a secret Legilimens?”_ Scorpius asked, or, well, thought. 

“Well,” an amused smile graced her face, “it’s not a secret. Your Occlumency shields were quite well done. Not that I’m surprised. Cissa always had the most elegant and impenetrable shields.” 

_“You know my grandmother?”_

“I haven’t introduced myself, have I? I’m Andromeda Tonks. ” 

_Née Black. Daughter of Cygnus and Druella Black_ , his mind recited. His grandmother’s older sister.

“I’m surprised she mentioned me.”

She didn’t. Mother had. She believed one should never forget blood even if they stopped being considered family. 

“Your mother, she sounds clever. I was sorry to hear of her passing.” 

_“Yeah.”_ Scorpius’s hand clenched around the blanket. “Should I call you Miss Tonks or...” 

“I’ve been called a great many things, dear. Some I’m told not to repeat to delicate company. But I’ve been known to respond to Andy or Tonks.”

_“Is ‘Miss Tonks’ okay?”_

“It’s marvellous.” She tapped her chin, a picture of contemplation. “But what should I call you? Don’t be shy, I know what it’s like to have a name with more vowels than their worth.”

_“Uh, just Scorpius is fine.”_

“Well, just Scorpius, are you hungry?”

His face went into a full flush as his stomach immediately grumbled.

“Great, the kitchen is down the hall.”

_“Uh...I...um...”_

“I’m kidding.” She picked up a plate from the bedside table and handed it to him. “Chicken salad. Last one left.”

Scorpius nibbled at the sandwich, the empty feeling in his stomach refusing to abate. He pushed his plate off to the side, thinking of what Grandmother would say if she knew he was eating (if barely that) in the bed.

“That bad?” Miss Tonks asked with a glance at his uneaten food. 

He stared into Miss Tonks eyes. They were blue, the same shade as Grandmother’s. _“What happened to me?”_

She regarded him soberly. The laugh lines on her round face the last vestiges of the lighthearted woman from before. “That’s...complicated to explain.”

“Okay, then, what can you tell me?”

“Mind, Body, and Soul. I learned that magic sprung forth these three distinct aspects. My mother taught me that. I know that most of her teachings, if you’ll excuse my french, were shite. But that, I still think there’s some truth in it. If only a small kernel of it.”

_“And which was wrong with me?”_

“The real question is which one saved you.” Miss Tonks hand laid over his. “I’ll tell you a hint: the mind can be influenced, the body can be modified, but the soul is the purest form of who we are.”

“Now,” Miss Tonks gave him a light tap. “I have something else for you. Nothing extravagant, but it is homemade!” She handed him a quill and parchment to him. 

_“Oh.”_

“Don’t oversell it, lamb. The quill’s charmed to write your thoughts.”

Scorpius baulked. _“All of them?”_

“Only the ones that make it through those carefully woven shields of yours. And that won’t be a problem, will it?”

Scorpius concentrated. _“No,”_ the quill wrote.

“Good.” Miss Tonks started walking towards the door.

_“Wait! You never answered my question about Albus.”_

“I think that’s a question better left to your visitors.” She pulled open the door to reveal a startled Rose and Hugo, stumbling back. 

Rose stood, rigid and mute in the doorway, staring a Scorpius. Then, “Oh, thank Morgana, you’re awake!” 

And then, Scorpius was sandwiched in two embraces: Hugo assuredly wrapped around his middle, head pillowed on his chest; Rose’s arms tightly holding his neck, nose in his shoulder, hair tickling his face. 

“I’ll leave you three alone then,” Miss Tonks said. 

“There was nothing to do except think,” Rose said, letting go of him. “And Mum and Miss Tonks wouldn’t tell us anything, and I was so afraid your heart would stop and...and...” 

“And wait and see when you would wake up,” Hugo said.

Scorpius liked that it was “when” not “if”. 

_“Albus...”_

Hugo shook his head. 

_“I should have held onto him tighter. If I had —”_

“No, Scorpius,” Rose contended, “I shouldn’t have left you alone to duel him. It’s my —”

“Neither of you should feel guilty,” Hugo said. “None of us would have left him. Not by choice.”

Rose took a steadying breath. “I have something you should see.” She had a standard edition of the _Daily Prophet_ , but it was her bandaged hands he noticed first.

“What happened?” 

The newspaper shook. “Second degree burns from pulling you two out of the fire I started.” 

“Rose —” 

_“It’s not your fault.”_

“Right,” she said. 

Rose didn’t have all the same minutiae of Albus’s face for him to read her emotions, they were plain on her face, she didn’t believe them. 

Rose moved on briskly. “There’s no mention of any of us being missing in here.”

_“Maybe they’re keeping out of the papers.”_

“I thought so too, but the date’s wrong. It’s the date Mum first went missing.”

And the day his mother died.

“You’re awake,” a voice interrupted, making Scorpius wonder if those would be the first words he would hear from now on. 

Mrs Granger-Weasley stood in the doorway. She was smaller than Scorpius remembered, curls cinched in a bun on the of her head, the relief on her face tempered by exhaustion.

Scorpius sat up, fluffing his pillows up and hiding the copy of the newspaper behind them. _“Mrs Granger-Weasley!”_

“Scorpius, how are you feeling? Are you dizzy? Thirsty? Hungry? Nauseous?”

_“I’m...”_ the quill paused, _“fine.”_

“Are you sure? You need your rest. Rose, Hugo, shouldn’t you two be upstairs resting?” 

“We weren’t tired,” Hugo said, sitting on the armrest of the chair.

“Scorpius might be.”

_“I’m not,”_ the quill wrote frantically.

“He’s been sleeping for twelve hours,” Rose said, pointedly, even her exhale sounding miffed. “Mum, you can’t keep avoiding this.”

“Rose, I told you not to worry about —” 

“About what? Albus? The Tesseract? Horcruxes? Dementors? The Veil? You haven’t answered my questions about any of it!”

Her voice went into a whisper, anger slipping away, a few tears escaping. 

“Why shouldn’t I worry? You don’t even seem to care.”

“I care, Rose. I care.” Mrs Granger-Weasley’s hand reached for her daughter’s across the bed. “But this is too dangerous. For all of you.”

Rose snatched her hand away. “Why is it dangerous? Why can’t we tell Dad? Uncle Harry? Just because you want to keep your secrets —”

“Secrets? I don’t care about secrets! I care about you. You and Hugo and Scorpius. Protecting all of you.”

_“It’s Voldemort, isn’t it? That’s who you’re trying to protect us from. That’s who’s got Albus.”_

“Yes.” Miss Tonks’s statuesque frame stepped into the room. 

Rose eyes widened. “I thought Uncle Harry defeated him? I thought he was gone?”

“Hermione, lamb,” Miss Tonks spoke gingerly, “it’s time.”

“He was supposed to be,” Mrs Granger-Weasley answered Rose. “And it’s my fault he’s not. I was the one who started looking for the Tesseract.”

“You didn’t do it alone,” Miss Tonks said. 

“Madam Mintumble,” Rose guessed. 

_“And Cygnus Black the II.”_

“His notes,” Mrs Granger-Weasley confirmed.

“He was an Unspeakable too,” Rose presumed.

“A paranoid one.” Miss Tonks chuckled. “I mean more than usual.”

“Madam Mintumble said the Tesseract was a mode of travel. What makes that evil?” 

“I found out to traverse space, to explore new universes it meant doing something impossible — something that had never been done before.

“Separating the soul from the body, then reuniting the two together again.” 

“And you did that.”

“I did. But it was a mistake. I got trapped. I lost my wand and almost my sense of self before you three found me.” 

“Madam Mintumble called it the place of Lost Souls. Is Albus’s lost now to...to IT?” Hugo asked.

“Albus’s soul isn’t lost,” Mrs Granger-Weasley said, severely, “it’s intertwined with Lord Voldemort’s.”

Scorpius couldn’t suppress his shiver. 

Miss Tonks offered an unwrinkled but callused hand. The juxtaposition kept him grounded.

“There’s a way to undo that — there’s a way to save him, right?” Rose asked. 

Mrs Granger-Weasley bit her lip.

“What?”

“It’s not that simple,” Mrs Granger-Weasley said finally. 

“The head of the British Auror Office must have noticed his own son is gone. You’ve got the son of one of Britain’s five most richest wizards —”

_“Actually, the tenth.”_

“— If you need help, you can get it.”

“Rose, there’s no easy answer to this. What I told you all was in confidence and only meant to stress the importance of this situation. And now I’m asking you to be patient and let me solve this.”

“When have I ever been patient?” 

“I know. I know, Rose.” She put her hand out again, and this time Rose took it. “But will you trust me?” 

“We’ve always trusted you, Mum,” Hugo answered. 

“Scorpius?”

_“You said you did the impossible once.”_

“And I will again.” Her eyes shone. “I...” 

Miss Tonks let go. “We should go.” 

Mrs Granger Weasley paused in the doorway and turned back to them. “I’m going to get Albus back. I promise.”

The door closed. 

Rose lips parted, but Hugo put a finger up to his own. She inclined her head towards him and casted Muffliato. 

Hugo’s gaze was on the door and beyond. “When’s the last time you saw Mum cry?”

“She’s scared.” 

“When’s the last time you saw Mum cry for herself?”

“What are you saying?” Rose stood up from the chair and started to pace the room. “You don’t think Mum is telling us the truth?”

“More like she doesn’t know all of it.” Hugo hugged his knees to his chest. “I heard something in the place of the Lost Souls.” 

“No, it sounded like a woman.”

_“A woman?”_ Scorpius thought hearing that voice was a dream. _“What exactly did they say?”_

“Two souls intertwined...not of the same kind...the son borne in the light... needs a true guardian to set him free...IT mangled and torn...succumbed by darkness...in divine need of escape...only the Tesseract can save their fates.”

_“That’s a prophecy.”_

“No, no, no. Prophecies are the ramblings of —”

_“It’s about Albus.”_

“— attention-seeking paranoids. It has nothing to do with Albus.”

She was wrong. And Scorpius didn’t know why or how, but he knew this prophecy was real and he knew it to his core. 

“We have to go back,” Scorpius said aloud. 

His voice was foreign, harsh to his own ears, and Rose recoiled from it. “You shouldn’t talk! You’ll damage your vocal cords more! Don’t you see? You’re injured! The two of us haven’t even made it to third year! Hugo doesn’t even have a wand! We can’t go back!”

_“Rose, you’re first in our class, Hugo, you’re collected in a crisis, and I’m... I’m...”_

“You’re his best friend,” Hugo said. “You know him best.”

“This is Lord Voldemort we’re talking about. Not some regular old boogeyman,” Rose protested. 

_“I know IT’s not just going to give us Al back. Or if he does, it will only be his body. But we know what IT wants: the Tesseract.”_

“Mum won’t give it to him.” 

_“Your Mum has only built herself in two weeks to find another solution. It’s not enough time.”_

“Albus won’t be able to last,” Hugo agreed.

“I don’t believe in prophecies.” Rose slumped into a chair, kneading her forehead. “But, obviously, you two believe we can do the impossible: save Albus without causing the return of You-Know-Who.

“But do you have any idea of how?” 

_“No,”_ Scorpius gave her a desperate smile, _“but you do.”_

“Okay, first the thing first, the tesseract—”

_“Right, getting it from your mother.”_

“— I have it. I found this,” Rose reveals the transparent object in her hand, “in my cloak pocket. Albus left it for us. 

“But what we really need is his wand.” 

The raging fire they had left behind was gone. 

There was no indication there had been one at all except for the phantom feeling of burning in Scorpius’s lungs. 

Albus was absent as well, though not for long, Scorpius thought. 

IT knew they were here. 

Just like Scorpius assumed IT had before when they had stumbled through the Veil, almost a day ago but felt like aeons. 

“Misplaced something, again?” 

Calm, detached — that voice was IT, not Albus. 

_“Yes,”_ Scorpius replied. He kept his breathing even, in time with Rose, and focused on his occluding shields. 

IT stood, wearing Albus’s body like an ill-fitting robe, equidistant from Rose and Hugo and the column. Cautious, Scorpius thought hoping IT remembered the kick Hugo had given IT. 

“I’m not sure how much help I’ll be.”

Rose snorted. “I’m sure no more than before, _Lord Voldemort.”_

“My reputation precedes me.”

“Your reputation of living in Harry Potter’s shadow? Yes.”

His left eye twitched — an Albus tic. IT reels Albus’s arm, backing away. “CRU—” 

Hugo slipped his toe out from under the cloak and stepped on Albus’s shoelace. IT stumbled, and Hugo pushed IT into the column. 

“We didn’t come here to duel.” 

Albus’s eyes glittered unnaturally within the column. “Then what’s all this for?” 

Scorpius knew just like IT did that IT couldn’t be caged for long. Albus’s wand — 11 1/2 inches, Cherry, Dragon Heartstring — was still clamped in his hand. 

But they had ITs attention now. 

_“A deal.”_

“You don’t have anything I want.”

“Wrong,” Hugo said. 

“You dare —”

“It’s obvious what you want,” Rose said. “The real question is what we want.”

One eyebrow, raised. 

_“A trade. The wand, for the way out.”_

“Really? A silly little wand?” Albus’s smile was too large to be his own. “When you can have something so much better?” 

Shadows started to contort around them, but Scorpius refused to let his eyes wander. 

“Scorpius?”

The voice was steady, healthy, the opposite of the last time he had heard it. 

A pit — no, an abyss opened in Scorpius’s stomach.

“Scorpius, Galleon, are you there?” 

Why did it sound alive?

“Give it to me,” said the two voices overlayered. 

“Scorpius, no! Don’t! She’s not real!”

“But she can be.”

“No,” Rose said furiously, “She can’t!”

“No?” IT was amused. “How would you know? You, a mere child still entangled by the myth of light and dark? Don’t you ever ask yourself what they’re keeping from you? Don’t you crave answers?” 

Rose bit her lip, hard enough that Scorpius saw the bead blood well on her lips. 

“I can give you that.”

Albus’s head cocked in Hugo’s direction. 

“And you, the little one. No longer will you have to fight to not be left behind, with the powers I can give you.”

“You see? I can give you all a world filled with your deepest desires.”

_“What about Albus?”_ The thought burned through Scorpius’s mind. “What will he get?” 

Albus’s eyes were the most depthless pools of green. 

“What he always wanted: for his life to mean something.”

Scorpius gave a pantomime of a smile. _“Let’s call the wand the cherry on top then.”_

ITs grin stretched farther. “On three.”

The next bit happened quickly. 

The wand flies in an arc.

The Tesseract glows and hovers for a second. 

Scorpius snags the wand out of the air; Rose’s left-hand covers his, then Hugo’s right. 

They point the wand at IT. 

_“EX —”_

Their hands start to move. 

_“— PEC —”_

A bright silver light starts to emit. 

_“— TO —”_

He closes his eyes. 

_“— PA —”_

Scorpius thinks of that compartment on the train. He thinks of emerald eyes. The taste of Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum. The most humongous bubble he had ever seen. The loud burst. Endless pink chunks of gum spewing into dark and blonde hair, smearing crystal windows, painting dark brown and pale skin. The sound of laughs mixing together. He thinks Albus: his first friend. 

_“— TRONUM!”_

The wand clattered to the ground. 

Something, all mottled pink skin and protruding ribs, laid, curled next to Albus’s body, on the floor. 

Albus’s eyelashes fluttered — once, twice, three times, four. 

Scorpius holds his breath through all of it. And it punches out of him when those — _emerald, bright, clear_ — eyes open. 

He couldn’t stop himself from sobbing as he clung to Albus.

He blinked, pupils restored. “Scorpius — Hugo — Rose — Why are we all...hugging?”

“Because it worked!” Rose said, more invigorated than Scorpius had ever heard her. “My theory about the unidentified uses of Patronus Charm worked! And you’re alive!”

“I’m happy your back,” Scorpius said, face still wet. 

“Your voice is back!” Hugo said elatedly. 

“Did I do that?” asked Albus, sounding agonized as his fingers skimmed the bruises on Scorpius’s neck.

The thing on the floor made a soft, pitiful noise. 

“No,” Scorpius responded, _“IT_ did.”

“What is _IT_?”

“The last bit of Voldemort’s soul,” Rose answered. She picked up the Tesseract, now with a tiny crack running through the middle of it, and pulled back the centre cube.

The thing faded in front of their eyes, then vanished in a blink. 

“IT’s gone,” Rose said, and Scorpius thinks she meant it not just for Albus but all of them. 

But something else had taken ITs place.

The bright-silver animal approached Scorpius. He stayed silent, still. The animal’s gaunt face brushed against his. Scorpius couldn’t stop the strangled noise that came out of him.

“Oh,” Rose said, looking in the wrong spot, “It’s a Thestral.”

Albus squeezed his hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know,” replied Scorpius, almost inaudibly. 

The haziness of that long, endless afternoon, finally made sense.

The phantom feeling of Mother’s cold hand. The words that echoed in his dream, but slipped away as soon as he woke. The way he had known before Father could say it, that Mother was gone. 

The Thestral budged up against him, and Scorpius cradled its head. He could tell what Mother meant: It really was hauntingly beautiful.

But, he didn’t wish for the others to see it; because Scorpius looked at the Thestral and saw all the things he had lost. 

He felt Albus’s hand touch his shoulder blade. 

But, then, Scorpius looked beyond it, to all the friends he had gained. 

“Rose,” he asked, “how long does a Patronus live?”

“I didn’t know that they could.”

Albus cut off a laugh. 

“What?”

“Never thought you would admit to not knowing something.”

“I’d admit to not knowing you.”

Albus let his laugh free this time, joyful and bright. 

“Hugo,” Scorpius asked, petting the broad expansion of Thestral’s wings. “Are you afraid of heights?”

A slow gapped tooth smile blossomed. “No.”

“Rose?”

A gleam of metal. “I love heights.”

“Albus?”

“Really?”

“I’m not ready to board a train. Are you?”

“No,” Albus’s smile was a small, marvellous thing, “But I’m ready to fly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may write an epilogue, but, for now, this is the end.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by my reading the lovely and tragic work Blackpool by TheDivineComedian and, of course, the classic novel, A Wrinkle in Time.


End file.
